Picture Perfect
by Galadriadhar
Summary: She was perfect, flawless, breathtaking, and beautiful. He was just a dirty, scrawny, dusty Scraggy. There was no way he could become her friend. There was no way he could become more.


I knew for a long time (well, over a month) that I wanted to do a fanfiction based (however loosely) on MandoPony's 'Picture Perfect Pony.' I also knew for a long time that I wanted to do this story with a Scraggy and a Glameow. How could it work?

The idea came yesterday. I ended up having to write notes on a napkin so that I would remember what I wanted to have happen.

It's shorter than most of my recent stories, but I still love it. I hope it's worth a thousand extra words for you as well.

PICTURE PERFECT

Mark knew he was inadequate. There was no way that he, a dirty, scrawny, dusty Scraggy could be friends- or more- with such a perfect, beautiful, radiant Glameow like her. But it didn't stop him from wishing.

He remembered the first time he had seen her. She had come out of the Trainer PR Studio, pink bow tied around her neck, trainer at her side. The trainer had knelt down and petted her gently, softly whispering words of encouragement. She purred, and the two returned to the Trainer PR Studio.

She was perfect. He had heard that she was known as the 'Picture Perfect Glameow.' She had starred in multiple television ads, movies, and short films.

He was no match for her.

* * *

><p>Mark scrabbled in the metal can for scraps. There! A shred of mago berry was covered with remnants of rice. That would be the best meal he'd had in a week. He grabbed for it and fell inside, causing a clanging as the can fell over. Scraps scattered out of the can, but Mark had gotten his prize.<p>

He shoved it in his mouth and chewed vigorously. Swallowing, he sighed in ecstasy. He had gotten a decent meal, and that bully Scar wasn't anywhere to be seen. Mark patted his stomach, covered his mouth as a burp came up, and got to his feet.

Far over Lumiose, a flock of Pidove chirped while swooping in simple patterns. Mark smiled easily. For a Scraggy, he was, as he would fully admit, a Pokemon who didn't need that much. One square meal a day and a place to sleep and he was happy.

Mark frowned. Well, there was one more thing. But he knew he couldn't get her; there was no way he could. She was too far from him. If she was perfect, he was… completely ordinary. Even less than ordinary, actually. But there really was no point in dwelling on such things. With great difficulty, Mark shrugged off his feelings of melancholy. Barkin would be waiting for him, and Mark didn't want to make Barkin upset.

He steadied himself against a brick wall as a wave of vertigo overcame him. It disappeared quickly, and Mark made his way to the Rouge Plaza. Scar wasn't out in the heat at that time of day, so Mark was safe with a simple walk. No rushing was needed, and he was glad about that.

The lush plants of Rouge Plaza contrasted with the red of the bricks, making a wonderful collage of color. Mark grinned as he looked around the Plaza. He enjoyed the colors of Lumiose. The only thing that would make Lumiose better would be if Scar suddenly disappeared and never returned. That, and…

"Mark! Mark, over here!" a barking voice said from the other side of the pillar in the Plaza. Mark ran his hand along the carvings on the pillar as he walked around it. On the side where the voice came from was a Furfrou. It was scruffy and dirty, but its eyes were bright and cheerful.

"Barkin! Good to see you again." Mark's voice was quiet and contemplative.

Barkin cocked his head. "What's up with you? Did the rice turn?"

Mark rubbed the pillar, head bowed. "No…" Mark's mouth turned up slightly at the corners. "I'm… dwelling on things that cannot be."

Barkin nodded knowingly. "Ah, Picture Perfect Glameow, eh?"

Glancing quickly at Barkin, Mark's brow furrowed. "How did you know, Barkin?"

The Furfrou barked a laugh. "Every Pokemon in Lumiose knows, Mark. Even Helios in Clemont's tower knows. The only one who doesn't know is the Glameow. So! When are you going to try and meet her, Mark?"

Mark's eyes widened. "I can't! You know that!"

"Why not?" Barkin asked casually. "There's no law that says you can't talk to her."

"Yes there is!" Mark insisted. "There are unwritten and unspoken rules, Barkin! And one of those unwritten and unspoken rules is that the dirty and scrawny and dusty Scraggy can't talk to the perfect and wonderful and charming and… absolutely breathtaking Glameow." Mark sighed, eyes glazed. "And that," he said, eyes losing the glaze and focusing on Barkin, "is why I cannot talk to her. If I were a big, strong, freshly cleaned Scrafty I could. But…" Mark fell silent, looking at himself.

Dirt smudged his stomach and arms. His pants were getting worn, and he knew his face was dusty from scrounging in cans. "But," Mark continued, "I'm dirty. Dusty. Worn and torn. Scrawny." He let out a sad breath. "It's just… it's just the way it is, Barkin."

Barkin frowned. "I think you're just fine, Mark. But it's your choice." Then Barkin's eyes lit up and he grinned. "Do you want to go watch the parade?"

Mark gave a very small half-smile. "All right. Do you just want to gawk at all the other Furfrou?"

Barkin winked as he led the way. "Do you even have to ask, Mark?"

* * *

><p>The parade was winding through the streets of Lumiose. There had been a float with Clemont, the Gym Leader, and Helios the Heliolisk on it. They were waving to the crowd and Helios took the opportunity to wave at Mark and Barkin. Mark waved back while Barkin barked at him. Helios pointed over his shoulder and, as he continued waving to the crowd, Mark and Barkin looked at the following float.<p>

The Glameow sat on the float, preening and grooming herself. She was ignoring the crowd, but Mark knew by now that she was enjoying the attention. The Glameow's trainer was smiling broadly at the crowd and throwing small candies. Mark grabbed a couple of the candies to eat later.

"Mark! It's her!" Barkin yelped, jumping up and down. Mark nodded silently. "Well? Go talk to her!"

Mark turned to Barkin. "What?! Are you crazy? I can't go out there! That's even more against the unwritten rules!"

"Rules, schmules. I think you're a scaredy-Meowth, Mark."

Nevertheless, Mark did want to run out there. But he was scared. And so the float went past, and Mark lost his opportunity.

* * *

><p>Later that day, Mark was sitting in what he called his home. It was really a hole in the wall, but Mark had spruced it up with salvaged pillows and scraps of cotton. He was sucking on one of the pieces of candy, thinking about the Glameow, when a purple-grey blur shot past the hole's entrance.<p>

Mark stuck his head out of the hole to try and see what happened. He saw, in the distance, a Glameow. She had stopped and was looking wildly around Rouge Plaza. It was her.

But she wasn't the Glameow he knew. She had dirt rubbed on her tail and face, her fur was tangled, and the marvelous white patches were dusty and grey.

Brow furrowed, Mark watched as she sat back on her haunches and hung her head. Her body began to shake. Mark dimly recalled the last time he had cried, realizing that she was doing the same thing. But… how?

This was the Picture Perfect Glameow. She was always pristine, perfect, and breathtaking. Was that a lie? Was this dirty cat what she really was?

Mark shook his head, trying to sort through his thoughts. Could her perfection be a mask? Could she truly be a… a scruffy creature? Was all his adoration in vain?

But a thought kept coming back. She was still breathtaking. She still held herself confidently, perfectly. She was still, underneath the mess, the Glameow that he loved so much.

A surge of bravery flooded through Mark's veins. He stepped out of the hole and walked quietly up to her. Up close, she was even more gorgeous.

He put a hand gently on her shoulder. "What's the matter?"

She glanced at him before hanging her head again. "What's it matter to you? You don't even know me."

Mark shrugged. "I've seen you around."

The Glameow looked up and finally met his gaze. "Are you a stalker?" Mark's eyes widened and she began to laugh. "I'm sorry! I couldn't resist. I've always wanted to say that."

Mark chuckled. His harsh feelings dissipated immediately. She had a sense of humor. "It's no problem. No problem at all. My name is Mark."

"Mark?" she asked. She moved her mouth as though tasting the name. "Mark… I like it. Did you know it means 'strength' or 'warlike?'"

"I… I didn't know that…" Mark murmured. A quizzical look passed over the Glameow's face.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

Mark looked away. "I'm… I'm not strong. I'm not warlike. I'm not any of those things. I'm… scared. I'm scared of everything. I'm scared of you, even."

The Glameow's eyes turned cold. "Me?" Her voice was flinty.

"Yeah…" Mark whispered. "You. You're so beautiful and perfect and flawless and breathtaking and I can't breathe when I see you and you're always with your trainer and I simply can't talk right now and I'm sorry and yeah and-" Mark was silenced by the Glameow putting her tail over his mouth. Her eyes had melted.

"I'm none of those things, Mark." Her voice had changed to be warm and gentle. "I'm not beautiful. I'm not flawless, or perfect. I'm not breathtaking. I'm simply… me. I'm the one they call the 'Picture Perfect Glameow,' but I really prefer my name."

Mark swallowed. "May I… know your name?"

The Glameow smiled. "Parfait."

"Wull, tha's a roight purty name," a rough voice muttered from the shadows. Mark frowned.

"Who is that?" Parfait asked. Mark gritted his teeth.

"Scar," Mark growled.

"Wull, look 'oo it is," Scar slurred, limping out of the shadows. "Markie boy from the hole in the wall. Whatcha doin' here, Markie?"

"Leave, Scar." Mark's voice was low.

"Naow, tha's no way to welcome yer bes' friend. But…" Scar fell silent. He looked over at Parfait. "But now ye'v got yerself a girlie. I dun think tha's roight, Markie. Not only that, she looks like a… like she's dusty. I thought she was the 'Piccur Purfect Glameow.'"

Mark's eyes burned. "Scar, leave now. I don't want to do anything to you."

"Wha' are you talkin' 'bout, Markie boy? You can't do noth-" Scar was cut off by a fist connecting with his jaw. The Scrafty stumbled backward, rubbing his chin. "Oooh, Markie boy. Why did ye do tha'?"

"You called Parfait 'dusty,' Scar. I can't let that slide," Mark hissed. His shoulders were raised.

"Ooh, it's 'bout yer girlie? Well, she's more than dusty, Markie boy."

Parfait pressed against Mark in fear. "Don't listen, Mark. Don't listen to him."

"She's… ooh, don't try tha'," Scar chided as he caught Mark's fist and slugged him in the stomach. "But wha' can I esspec' from yer type, Markie boy?"

"Mark!" Parfait screamed. Scar's fist caught Mark's chin.

"Lissen to yer girlie scream yer name, Markie boy," Scar snickered. "She better run if she dessn't want to see anythin'."

"Parfait is not my 'girlie,' Scar," Mark gasped. "She is my friend. Leave her alone, you scum."

Scar clicked his tongue. "Still fightin', eh? I think ye may want to close yer mouth, Markie boy."

Mark closed his eyes, but opened them again, determined to be strong for Parfait. Scar pulled back, fist beginning to glow, but he was stopped by a beam of psychic energy. Mark fell to the ground as Scar went flying into the Rouge Plaza pillar.

There was yelling in some strange language, and a Gothitelle raced past and sent Scar soaring over the buildings of Lumiose. The Gothitelle nodded in satisfaction and turned to Mark. "You hurt?"

Mark grunted. "No."

The Gothitelle rolled its eyes. "Parfait, is he hurt?"

Parfait rushed to Mark's side. She looked Mark over and stared at the Gothitelle. "Pracy… he is."

* * *

><p>Mark opened his eyes to white. He wondered briefly if he had died, but he quickly dismissed that thought as a stab of pain shot through his stomach. He retched.<p>

"You're awake!" two voices yelled.

"Barkin? Parfait? Are you there? Is that you?" Mark whispered weakly.

"Oh, Mark! You're alive!" Parfait screamed. Mark felt a furry head rubbing his side. "You made it. I was so scared, Mark…"

Mark chuckled quietly. "I was, too."

"You were wrong, you know." By Parfait's voice, Mark knew that she was trying to hold back sobs.

"What do you mean?"

"You are strong. You're warlike, courageous, and so many other things that you didn't mention but I knew you meant. You are a 'Mark.' You are my 'Mark.' Thank you."

Mark tried to smile, but it hurt too much. "You're still wrong. But I'll take it."

* * *

><p>In the end, it turned out that Parfait's trainer had found Mark and Parfait in Rouge Plaza. She sent Parcy out to stop Scar from knocking Mark out. Then she took Mark to the Pokemon Center where he received intensive care for about two days.<p>

Parcy, the only Pokemon that Parfait's trainer could really communicate with, asked Mark if he would like to stay with Kelly. She was the trainer.

Mark, after only a moment's hesitation, accepted. He asked, though, if she could adopt Barkin as well. Parcy talked to Kelly, and Kelly smiled in approval. With Mark's help, she found Barkin and adopted him.

After getting cleaned up, Mark and Barkin were as 'perfect' and as 'flawless' as Parfait. Kelly began training Mark and Barkin in acting.

Within a month, Mark was appearing with Parfait in commercials and short movies. Barkin was a shoe-in for Pokemon food advertisements.

In six months, all three were starring in feature films as sidekicks and, sometimes, main characters.

Mark, after a good day's work, would retire to his comfortable home in Kelly's house. Parfait would curl up next to him, and Mark would stroke her head as she snored softly.

Sure, there were unwritten and unspoken rules. The rules said that a Scraggy like Mark couldn't get roles in movies and commercials. The rules said that the 'Picture Perfect Glameow' couldn't be a dirty kitty in the alley. The rules, however, also said that love could conquer all.

So really, it didn't matter. Mark was a movie star. Many humans and Pokemon knew his name. He would get mobbed on the streets whenever he exited the Trainer PR Studio.

Parfait was almost always seen as the 'Picture Perfect Glameow.' But with Mark, she was the dirty, playful kitten she really felt she was.

And Mark and Parfait loved each other. Mark had only thought they would be friends, but it didn't end up happening that way.

Parfait insisted on being just Parfait. But to Mark, she always would be 'Picture Perfect Parfait.'

Mark continued to insist that he was scared and not the least bit warlike. But to Parfait, he was always Mark, her wall and protection.

The unwritten rules had been broken and shattered. But the most important rule, the rule of love, had been dusted off and shown the light. And Mark, the once dirty, cowardly Scraggy watching from the distance had become Mark, the clean, brave Scraggy standing at her breathtaking side.


End file.
